String
by TeresianLion
Summary: Reader is depressed, and the BTT tries to help her. (Contains self-harm, self-loathing, and drugs.)
1. Chapter 1

Death.

The word shook your self, and yet settled so perfectly beneath the skin.

Seventeen and living with your father in a small three bedroom house, you were not happy. Not because of your living arrangements, you couldn't make it on your own even if you tried. But that was just another thing wrong with you, wasn't it?

The real reason of your sorrow was many a things. The first thing that really rocked you and sent you down this path was your parent's divorce. You knew it was coming, ever since you were little. On some nights, the small child, you would peer into your parent's bedroom, listening to them yelling at each other about things that you thought were stupid, or otherwise didn't make sense to you because of your age. Other times, day or night, you would sit in your room, listening to their voices, hardly able to block them out. You were always worried, even from such a small age, that your parents might actually become violent and hit each other. You got older and realized they wouldn't physically harm each other, and that was somewhat reassuring. But you still listened to their useless fights. They didn't seem to matter to you, but then you found out: you were an accident baby.

This shocked you, and then you began to realize that all their fighting was because of you. Your parents were married when your mother was six months pregnant with you, and even your father admitted it wasn't expected. So. . .they got married because of you. They didn't belong together. They didn't get along because of you. They fought and yelled because of you. It was always you.

Then, the divorce. You were fourteen. Monday and Tuesday at dad's, Wednesday and Thursday at mom's, and Friday-Sunday alternates. You fought hard with your mother, and she fought back. Always, she would get so upset about useless things. She even started hitting you when all you requested was to call your father. You could do nothing, for fear she would manipulate more people and get full custody over you.

Your father was your protection. He and you laughed about your mom and her lazy fat-ass boyfriend who thinks he knows it all, but really knows nothing. He just sits on his butt all day and watches TV, hates gays and is a racist, and hates all your friends no matter who they are, and especially hates your father. But all that was forgotten when you were with your father. He was so nice and kind. He would only hurt a fly. Seriously, he'll catch bugs and release them outside. One time, you couldn't even close the kitchen window all the way because there was a spider nest there. But this contradicts what your father does, and did. He used to fight in the air force, and now works for the state as an electrician (does all the wiring in the government buildings and such) and is a wrestling coach at a high school that is the undefeated champion in that sport. He works out quite a lot, and can easily whoop some ass. But he'll only do it in self defense. He's not a violent character.

Naturally, like the many good things you once had, this only lasted for a year. You let your grades drop. You were being bullied in school, and since the divorce nothing seemed worth doing. Grades matter to your father like life, and once they dropped he disowned you, uttering every cuss word in the dictionary at you and targeting you personally. He didn't ignore you when they were up, but he never let it go. So you let them fall. So far it has never happened, bu whenever he yells at you for. . .well, just being you, you always fear he will strike.

But, your parents aside, other things harmed you. Things like the only time you ever gave your whole heart to a boy, finally willing to open up after your parent's split and parent's abuse. But, of course, all his promises of happiness led to nothing but betrayal. He threw you to the curb like trash, suddenly not caring about you at all, when before he worshiped you like a goddess. This tore you apart inside, and was the moment you decided to permanently guard your heart.

But of course, pain seeped through. You began to find everything wrong with your life. Every little thing made you upset and made you feel like you didn't deserve anything.

Not even life.

But still, you could never do it. You were so tired of living, but you were so afraid of dying. Why did half of you want to stay behind? Was it because your mom was stupid enough to only bind your human rights to the divorce contract until you were seventeen, hence you now living full time with your dad? Was it the friends you had kept all throughout high school, as happy now in senior year to be around you as in freshman year, when you first met? Or was it that you just didn't want to leave? You didn't know.

All you knew at this point was that you sat cross-legged on your bed, light on and door locked. Your dad and the other coaches had left yesterday morning, away on a two week wrestling trip with his team - the championships - so you had the house to yourself, save for your three dogs. But still, you locked your door out of habit.

You didn't want to die, but you couldn't bottle up this pain. So. . .you vented. The only way you really knew how, and the only way that worked for you. Oh, you had tried therapy. You had tried the writing poetry and drawing, but nothing worked. Not even talking to your best friend, (bestfriend'sname), worked. Only the blade.

You had used scissors at one point, but that never cut deep enough. So, you took apart a razor and got the blades out. Six. You had six scars on your wrist. Half healed to marks, and half still with scabs. Never cutting over the vein, of course. That might land you in the hospital, and you weren't willing to take that risk. No one knew you cut, and you weren't about to let everyone find out. It had been getting chillier in the October month, and you had always worn the same baggy coat and beanie. No one questioned it, and you were thankful. Though, they never really had a reason to. Yes, sometimes you would drift off and look sad, but as soon as someone asked you what was wrong, you smiled and said nothing, pretending to be back from a trance.

"I was just thinking," you would say. 'Thinking about my terrible existence.'

And that's just what you were thinking about now, sitting on your bed. You held the blade between your middle finger and thumb. You wrist was exposed, and you watched as the blade was drawn towards a fresh, uncut spot. You pressed down slowly, not feeling anything. But then you dragged. You slowly pulled the blade across, and bit your lip.

Skin was so fragile, so easily penetrable. It almost made you shiver how vulnerable you were.

You watched as the blood slowly pooled around the blade before you took the weapon away. You tucked it back into your old glasses case from elementary school, back when you needed reading glasses. Now of course, your eyes were a perfect twenty-twenty. So you didn't need the glasses. But the case you needed, to hide the tool. In it was another half blade that hadn't come off the razor quite so easily, and small scissors - not the safety kind. You shoved the box back under your pillow as you watched the blood grow on your wrist. It started to form drips, and dripped onto your jeans. But it was a small spot, and was gone as soon as it hit the material.

Looking from you jeans to your clock, you saw the time - 7:27AM. Time for you to walk to school. You quickly wiped the rest of the blood off and bandaged your wrist tightly, hiding it in your over sized sleeve. You slung your black jansport backpack around your shoulders, and headed out the door, locking it on your way out.

Time to put on your brave face.


	2. Chapter 2

"Kesesesese~"

You heard the distinct German laugh behind you as you opened your locker. You smiled before turning around.

"Hey Gil! Hi Toni, hi Francis!" You greeted your three unique, perverted. . .friends. The albino German Gilbert Beilshmidt, with scruffy silver hair and ruby red eyes. The fluffy brown-haired emerald-eyed Spainard Antonio Fernandez. The blue-eyed long haired blonde Frenchman Francis Bonnefoy.

"What's our favorite chica up to~?" Antonio asked, creeping ever so close to you.

You ignored his movements and removed what you needed from your locker. "Just getting my textbook for first period."

Gilbert made an unamused snort. "That's so boring! You should ditch, with us!"

You sighed mentally. You knew they were joking, they always were. You wanted to ditch, ever so badly, but you were afraid of the others who ditch - the other boys. The ones who beat you and bully you. Plus, they didn't know that you had all F's. They can't know. They can't know what's up. "You guys know I can't. I can't afford to let my grades drop."

Upon believing she didn't get the tease, Francis reassuringly said, "It's okay, we were only kidding."

"I know," you said in a monotone, shutting your locker.

There was a silence after your retort, and you mentally scolded yourself for creating the tension, however short the moment was. Because just then the bell rang.

You flashed the boys a smile and gave them each a hug. Things went back to normal after the awkward moment - Antonio squeezed you tight, Gilbert blew in your ear, and Francis grabbed your ass as you hugged each of them.

"Bye!" You waved before walking away to your first class, adding your signature smile.

The trio waved as you went before heading their own directions. But not Francis. He hesitated, watching you walk away with a pitiful and almost helpless look on his face. He sighed before turning and walking away, running his fingers through his blonde locks.

X (timeskip)

"Hey, look, it's the freak!"

Another thing to worsen your life: those bad boys weren't the only ones bullying you. They just hurt you more than the girls.

As you tried to hurry by the popular pretty girls in the hall, you were painfully reminded of how ugly and unimportant you were. One of them, Haleigh, had actually once been your best friend. Shows you knew where to put your trust, eh? She, like many of your other "friends" had abandoned you and bullied you once you were seen regularly hanging out with the "Bad Touch Trio" - as your three friends liked to call themselves. Only (bestfriend'sname) had remained loyal. Everyone else shunned you. And now, it was Haleigh doing the latter - beating.

She shoved you, and another girl, Andrea, stuck her foot out in front of you. You tripped and fell forward, landing on your face on the cold, hard, linoleum. Pain shot through your body, stinging your face and hands.

You lay there for a moment before you tried to get up. But then you were kicked in your face by a third girl; Daisy, you thought her name was. Then you were kicked in your stomach. By who, you didn't know. Then you were kicked in your chest. The girls continued to kick your body, throwing insults as they did.

"Weirdo!"

"Whore!"

"Slut!"

"Stupid!"

"Worthless!"

"Just save us the trouble and go kill yourself!"

You coughed a bit, and that's when the kicking stopped. They hauled you up, Andrea and Daisy holding your arms behind your back. Haleigh balled her hand into a fist and jammed it as hard as she could into your stomach. You were released, and the three girls left you, laughing, as you slumped down to the ground. You clutched your stomach and sat back against the wall, squeezing your eyes shut and gritting your teeth as the pain slowly, slowly, numbed away.

You heaved yourself up, picked up your backpack and textbook that had fallen when you were tripped, and went to the girl's bathroom.

You looked in the mirror and noticed that your face didn't look that bad at all. A small, light bruise formed on your cheek, and it would be gone by tomorrow.

What still hurt was your stomach. You lifted your shirt slightly and saw many purple-yellow colored bruises scattered about, all different sizes. They weren't going to go away for a few days. You sighed, feeling tears. But you held them back.

The halls had cleared after you were tripped, and you had no clue when the bell had rung. So you hurried and wiped your face before leaving the bathroom.

X

You had hoped to be alone during lunch. You weren't in the mood to fake smiles and chit chat. You were also tired of Francis asking you nearly every day why you didn't have a lunch. Why didn't he just lay off? You give him the same answer everyday anyways.

You didn't see any sign of the trio or (bestfriend'sname), and quickly scanned the campus for an isolated spot. You found it, and were just about to walk towards it, but stopped and squealed as you felt a hand firmly slap your butt. Before he even walked in front of you you knew who it was. The most obnoxious of your four friends.

"Gilbert! You scared me!" You smiled at him, like you were laughing.

"You've got a pretty nice ass, (name)!" Antonio said. "You can't blame him!"

"You guys really are pervs." You glanced behind them. "Hey, where's Francis?"

Antonio shrugged. "I don't know."

"He and (bestfriend'sname) went off somewhere," Gilbert said.

You laughed once. "I'll have to tease her later."

"Let's find somewhere to sit," Gilbert whined. "My feet are tired!"

"You've been walking for five minutes."

"That's five more than I intended to move today."

You rolled your eyes visibly and followed the two of them inside the lunchroom to sit at an empty table.

After about five or so minutes of chit chat, Francis and (bestfriend'sname) showed up, Francis sitting with Antonio and Gilbert across from you and [a/n, I'm going to shorten bestfriend'sname to just bestfriend] (bestfriend) sitting beside you.

"Hey guys," you said halfheartedly. "All finished snogging?"

Gilbert and Antonio started laughing, and (bestfriend) playfully hit your shoulder.

"Ew! No!" She laughed, and Francis couldn't help but snicker.

Once the laughter had died down, everyone started talking again. But you didn't know what about. You weren't listening; you didn't really care. They weren't paying attention to you, so you let yourself drift, staring out the window.

~ [a/n, this means point of view change]

I watched her, sitting quietly. She didn't seem to want to talk with us. But. . .she never did. Whenever we'd call her to hang out, she'd always decline and give an excuse.

"Hey! Francis!" Gilbert tapped my shoulder excitedly.

"Oui?" I answered calmly.

"Me and Antonio and (bestfriend) have decided to go camping this weekend! We're leaving after school. You should come, and (name) too!" He turned to her. "(Name)!"

She turned her head, attention snapped right back. "Hm?"

"You wanna come camping with me, Antonio, Francis, and (bestfriend)?" She hesitated, and we feared her answer. "Come on, please?" Gilbert begged.

(Bestfriend) grabbed her arm. "Please (name)! Please please please please please! Don't leave me with the three of them!"

"It won't be any fun without you!" Antonio begged.

She it her lip and now turned to me as I pleaded, knowing full well what her reply would be. But I did it anyways.

"Oui, we won't enjoy it without you." I looked into her eyes. "Please come with us."

After and agonizing and perhaps predictable pause, she looked away from everyone's gaze and said, "I'm sorry, guys. I can't. I have a really big project due on Monday." There were frustrated noised and sounds of disapproval, and (name) continued to look down. Under her hair, I thought I could see a. . .was that a bruise?

"It'll be just us four, I guess," Gilbert said sadly.

"We'll be so lonely!" Antonio whined.

I was about to say something to the albino, but then the bell rang. Everyone got their things and stood up to leave, my sentence remaining unspoken.

X

After school, you walked home. You didn't go to your locker or say goodbye to anybody, you just went home. You didn't have to worry about any of them walking you home, and by the time you reached your destination, you hadn't had to talk to anyone.

You opened the front door with your key.

"I'm home," you called to nobody. The dogs were asleep.

You threw your bag in the corner and flopped down onto your bed. The force shot to the bruises of your stomach, and you instantly felt pain. Tears began to well in your eyes, but not because of the bruise. You started to cry because you were hurting deeper than the bruise. You buried your face in your pillow, crawling into the fetal position as you cried.

Why dd your mom have you, the accident? Why did you have to be born? Why did your mom beat you because you were born? Why did your dad hate you because of your damn grades?

Why did that boy lie to you? Why did all boys break your heart? You loved him! Why did they have to turn around and treat you like crap, all of your "friends"?

Why did everyone shun you because of who you were hanging around? Why do they beat you? Why weren't you pretty and thin like them? Why did they do this?

Why do you even exist?

Why?

"Why. . .?" you mumbled as your cries settled to sniffled. You felt sick. "Why. . ."

Your eyes red, you sat up in your bed, pulling out your old glasses case. You opened it and took out the blade you had taken from a razor.

Following the same process as before, you cut your wrist.

You paused after making the mark, staring at it. You sniffed once more as you watched the blood pool on your wrist.

DING DONG

. . .the doorbell? Who could be here?

You quickly put the blade away and wiped your wrist, wrapping it in a second. You hurried out of your room and to the front door, unlocking it and opening it.

"Bonjour!"

"Francis?" What was he doing here? It was Friday. Shouldn't he have left already? Or at least been packing for the camping trip? You were confused, and in that moment forgot to smile.

"I came by to help you with your project," he smiled.

You didn't invite him inside. "Shouldn't you be camping?"

"Non, I decided to stay back for you."

For you? You mentally scolded yourself. 'Stupid, stupid! Because of my lie I ruined his weekend!' You started to shut the door, giving him a small smile. "Thanks, but I've got it by myself."

THUD

Right before you could close the door all the way, you felt it being stopped suddenly and forcefully. Francis had his arm against it, keeping it from moving.

"(Name)," he said sternly, "I want to talk."

Talk? "Talk about what?" You asked cautiously.

"About what's been going on. Don't think I haven't noticed. The other two may be oblivious, but I'm not. And neither is (bestfriend). I talked to her at the beginning of lunch."

You froze. Had he and (bestfriend) really seen right through you? Your voice was small. "I don't know what you-"

Francis cut you off. "And don't try to lie to me."

Your voice was a little stronger now and more stern. "Francis, I'm not lying to you. I honestly have no clue what you're talking about. And if you'll excuse me, I have to work on an essay due Monday." You tried to shut the door all the way, but your frail form couldn't budge it. You knew Francis would come in after you, so you made a run for your room.

As soon as your weight left the door, Francis shoved it open and dashed after you. You didn't take more than three steps before you were caught. The Frenchman grabbed your wrist and held you in place.

You let out a whimper in pain, but then bit your lip and silenced yourself. You looked at Francis' glare, now turning softer as his blue eyes slowly widened.

You looked at him pitifully, silently pleading, 'No, no, no, no, no!'

But it happened. Francis slid up the sleeve on your jacket, removed the bandages, and saw all of your scars.


	3. Chapter 3

"(Name). . ." Francis whispered solemnly, his grip slowly loosening as he trailed his orbs to your (e/c) eyes.

You pulled your wrist back and held it to your chest. "W-what?!" You snapped out, trying to sound fierce, but failing badly. Your voice was broken, and Francis took a step closer to you. You feared he would try to embrace you, pet your hair, tell you everything was going to be okay. You didn't want that.

You took a step back, and he froze, reading the body language.

Instead, his whispered out, "(Name), I care about you." He paused, and your eyes darted from side to side, trying to figure where you could run to get to your room the fastest. Francis did not notice, as he was looking down. "I don't want to see you do this. Look, I-"

Okay, that was enough. You found your route and took it while he was distracted. You ran into your room, and Francis followed once he felt the air breeze past his cheek. But you were too quick for him, slamming your bedroom door in his face before he could enter.

Crap, crap! Why the hell did you let this slip? Why did you let him find out? Why did you let (bestfriend) find out? You're so stupid, stupid, stupid! You stupid, worthless, piece of trash whore!

Your thoughts got more and more violent as tears pricked once more. You paced your bedroom, fists clenching and unclenching. You were grinding your teeth.

A pounding on your door brought you back.

"(Name)!" Francis shouted. "(Name), let me in!"

"Go away!" You shouted back.

"No! Not until you tell me what is going on! Why don't you ever have food?"

"Go away!" You shouted, louder.

Francis ignored it. "Why are you so sad?"

"Piss off!"

"Why do you cut your wrists?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, a tear falling. You shouted as loud as your scratched up voice box would let you. "GO AWAY!"

Francis fell silent. Your cries could be heard from the other side of the door.

The Frenchie sighed. He had told his parents he was going on the trip, and told his friends he was staying home. He had nowhere else to go, and desperately wanted to talk to (name), to find out what was really happening.

So, he sat with his back against your door, and waited.

Eventually, he fell asleep, your crying prominent in his ears.

X

You didn't know what time it was. You didn't know how long you had been crying. You didn't bother checking the clock. The vanished light from the window told you all you needed.

You looked at your wrist. You slowly and silently ran your fingers over your scars, old and new, as Francis' words replayed in your head for the millionth time.

'Why don't you ever have food? Why are you so sad? Why do you cut your wrists?'

Why. The familiar word made you shudder.

You realized just then that you left the front door open. Not wanting the dogs to run off, and to check that they already hadn't you left your room to close the front door. But as soon as you opened your bedroom door, you had to stop yourself from nearly tripping over a sleeping Francis, fallen on his side. You blinked. Had he really been here this whole time? Wh. . .

You held your mental tongue. No, you decide not to travel down that path. You don't finish your thought, and destroy any others pertaining to the subject of why Francis was sleeping in front of your door, instead of going back home or somewhere else. . .

You quietly step over him. Checking, you see that your dogs are all still there, doing whatever dogs enjoy doing in your father's room. You shut and lock the front door, then cautiously make your way back to your room. This time, you check the time.

10:45PM

You had fallen asleep in the midst of your crying, and weren't surprised at how late it was. You were tired now, so you crawled into bed and laid there. You tossed this way, you tossed that. It was only -a matter of sleepless time until the clock struck midnight. You rolled over, tried to sleep, then rolled over again.

1:03AM

You sigh. It was clear you weren't going to be doing any sleeping soon, so - what do you decide to do? Watch television, of course. A mindless activity to "rest" your mind as you sit, not using your muscles. Your logic as you step over Francis and make your way to the living room.

Sitting on the couch, you turn on the television. You didn't know what was on, and you didn't care. Something to get your mind off everything. Something to get your mind off of your mother and her boyfriend, your father, the bullies, Francis, your wrist. You felt the sting on your skin, and realized that the bandages had been left on the floor. Oh well, no matter. Francis already knew anyways. You sighed again. Why did you have to lie like that? Make him bail on his friends, make him drive to your house, make him fall asleep on your floor? You were such a burden.

A stupid, useless, burden.

~

". . .and I say, 'Hey! What a wonderful time today. . .'"

Blinking open my eyes, I yawned. I could hear the sound of the television playing from the living room, and noticed, when I tried to lean back, that (name)'s bedroom door was open.

"Why is she up?" I mumbled as I rubbed one of my baby blue eyes. Standing, I decided to investigate.

In the living room, I saw (name) sitting on the couch, watching that old American children's show "Arthur". The room was completely dark, save for the artificial and slightly buzzing light coming from the t.v. She sat there, alone in the spotlight. Her fragile form appeared tired, and for a moment I wondered once more why she was not in her bed, sleeping. I then thought that she had fallen asleep, but she sighed, and I knew she was awake. But she didn't seem to be paying attention to the show. She seemed sad. But why? Was she trying to escape?

No, I told myself, that doesn't matter now. What matters is her wrists, and why she would do that. I wished she wouldn't. Why would she in the first place? I wished she would tell me. What has been going on? What has been happening in her life? Can I help her with it? I wished she would let me.

There's so many things I wish for (name). I wish she would be happy. I wish she wouldn't spill her own blood. I wish that she could let me help her.

I walked over to her, accidentally silent, and placed my hand on her shoulder. (Name) jumped slightly and turned to look at me. Her (e/c) eyes were wide and scared, and I felt the need to withdrawal my hand. I did so. (Name) turned back to the t.v.

"Oh, h-hi Francis," she mumbled. Was she angry? Upset? I could not tell.

"What are you watching?" I asked innocently.

"Um. . ." (Name) took a moment to answer. "Arthur, I think it's called."

I slowly walked around to the other side of the couch, sitting down on one side. "You seem distracted."

(Name) looked down. "Mhm. I'm tired. Can't sleep."

"Is something on your mind?"

She didn't answer.

I placed my hand on hers, which was resting on her knee. (Name) didn't flinch. "(Name)." I paused, thinking. "Can you tell me about it? I want to help you."

There was a long pause. I moved my hand off of hers and gently brushed her hair from her face. (Name) continued looking down, then back up at me. I was right earlier; there was a bruise on her face.

"(Name)?"

She looked back down, bit her lip, and slowly nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

You had just told Francis everything. You told him about your childhood, the divorce, your parents, that boy; about how you stopped eating and started cutting. You explained everything, all while in his embrace. Your story had ended, and he hadn't moved a muscle. It took him more than a moment, even, to respond.

"(Name). . ." He spoke very slowly.

You took a deep breath in and released it silently.

"I don't want to see anymore of this cutting. I don't want to hear anything more of you living with your mother, or father. I don't want to see you sad anymore. I want to see you eating each day. I want to see you smiling and happy." Francis looked down at you, releasing you only to look directly into your eyes. "You're so much better than this. You. . ." He paused, frowning slightly.

Your spirits, which you had foolishly raised at his words, was now crushed. Could he really not-

"You're parent's fights were not your fault. The divorce was not your fault. That boy was crazy, not you. (Name), you've got the makings of greatness in you. But you've got to take the helm and chart your own course. Stick to it, no matter the squalls! And when the time comes to really test the cut of your sails and show what you're made of - well, I hope I'm there, catching some of the light coming off you that day." Francis paused again, unsure what his next move should be. In his momentary enthusiasm, the Frenchman had broken eye contact with you, but he now returned it. Only to see tears in your eyes.

Did he really mean that? All those things he said to you. . . Was Francis really your friend? Why was he. . . No. That's enough of that. If he said these things, then he does care.

Right?

Right.

You looked down as more tears started falling. You leaned forward into Francis' chest, quietly sniffling. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back and gently repeating, "It's alright. . .it's alright. . ."

You were enjoying this moment. It was the first joy you had felt in such a long time, it had moved you to these tears. You wanted to cherish this forever. You started to replay his words in your head, studying them carefully. Then it hit you.

You've got the makings of greatness in you? You've got to take the helm and chart your own course. . .? By tunder!

"Francis. . ." you whispered. You stopped crying and looked up at the Frenchman.

"Yes?" He smiled.

"Did you get that from Treasure Planet?"

His smile instantly faltered. "U-um. . .well, I was kind of hoping you hadn't seen that movie. . ."

"You ASS!" You suddenly screamed, trying to push away from him. He didn't mean any of what he'd said!

Francis put his hands up defensively, then as he hushed you and calmed you down some, he wrapped them around you again. "Amour, I did get it from that film. But it's true! You do have greatness in you, you just bury it under all this senseless self-loathing. You can't let anyone make you feel that way without your consent. You have to take charge of you life and follow your dreams. It doesn't matter what anyone else tells you. They can't get you down unless you let them. You're going to do great things one day, (Name). I want to be there when they happen. Truly, I do. You're not a burden to me, or Antonio, or Gilbert. Not to anyone. We care about you. We're your friends, (Name)."

Once more, you stared at him. It was all you could do. Your mind had gone completely blank.

"Oh. . .Francis. . ." You hugged him again, falling victim to his delightful musk, and never wanting to let him go. You prayed this could last forever.

But would it?


	5. Chapter 5

When you woke up, you were still there in his arms. All the crying must've tired you out. Francis probably fell asleep shortly after you drifted off. He was still asleep.

You smiled to yourself. 'He's actually kind of cute when he's asleep,' you think before carefully slipping out of his loosened embrace. Two things were on your mind. Well, one could say three, but once you were away from his intoxicating and strange comfort, the thought of Francis being cute left your mind. So there were only two things on your mind now, and one of them was coffee. Your body had grown dependent on it, and you needed it every morning - or else you would face a fearsome headache.

Your [f/c] socks made no noise as you stepped off the carpet and to the tiled floor of the kitchen. You got the necessary items and started the coffee maker. In this process, you dwelled on the second thing on your mind. It was that emotionally draining last night. You played and replayed the events in your mind as you waited for the coffee to be done. Part of you wanted to believe what Francis was saying was true, that you weren't a burden. That none of it was your fault. Was this your rational side? Because. . .the other half of you didn't want to let any of it go. Francis hadn't given you any evidence of his words holding true. Your brain knew that your parents fought. Your brain knew that boy had abused you emotionally.

And that boy. . .that dammed boy! You hated him. You didn't like thinking of it much and just clumped it in with your other problems. But in truth, he was a category of his own. It's like history is repeating itself. He was just as Francis is - telling you you were beautiful, saying you have to let it go, you have so much more potential, blah blah BLAH. That asshole hadn't meant any of it. He pressured you for nudes and sex, which you gave him nudes, but not the sex. Your father was a drunk and a pothead when you were growing up. You know this. He says it was because he was trying to escape his marriage to your mother, because if he had filed for divorce, the contract formed to bind you and everything your father has would have heavily favored your mother. Even more than it already does. She is stealing $1,100 from you each month in "support money" even though you don't freaking live there any more. You and your father could barely buy groceries last month with over half his paycheck gone and half of what he has left going towards the car repairs, which you two also desperately needed. The car ran, sure, but there were lots of problems with it.

But. . .we're straying off topic.

Everything about your parents you were convinced to finally let go. And you did. You found comfort in that boy and became absorbed in him. He told you he loved you, he told you that you were "the one", he told you all sorts of things. You were happy. You had finally gotten over it all.

But then you found out that he had been cheating on you. You heard from your friend in the locker room (back when you were in PE) that he had been talking with other girls. He told your friend about how this new chick was "the one" and he never felt this way before, all the things he had been telling you. And they were having sex. That boy avoided you a lot afterwords. You tried to talk to him, revive the relationship, and forgave him for cheating. After all, guys have needs. But it was all for nothing. He told you to fuck off, and started spreading rumors. He released all sorts of personal information - including your nudes. Only to a few people, and [bestfriend] made sure it stopped there, but this truly damaged your psyche. Your trust had been betrayed. Your heart broken. He treated you like crap after, and that's when you started being bullied.

It was then you had put a wall around yourself.

Not just your heart, but your whole body. No one could get near you. You shuddered at a hug, and felt uncomfortable in a handshake. You didn't like any of it. You avoided it so much even that these responses became triggered instinctively. You lived with just your father, and he hardly ever hugged you. Your grades were terrible.

You hated everyone and didn't let anybody get the chance to get in. Nobody but you could understand. No one knew what was going on inside because you didn't let them know. You didn't want them to know. You don't want them to know. People talk. People spread the lies and the truth. People don't keep secrets. So you don't tell people anything. The fact that Francis saw your scars felt like the end for you. It still does. He's going to tell, everyone will know, your parents will force you to see therapists, your whole family is going to know you do these things. No one can know. No one. . .

You felt your throat start to close up as your eyes started watering. Because, fuck. It's over. It's all over. No more secret. No more wall. You'd have to build a new wall, this one stronger. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to calm down. Let Francis think he knows you. Let him think you let it all go. Create a new lie. Be happy. . .look happy. . .fake happy. Retreat into yourself. No one can be trusted but you. Francis is going to end up doing the exact same as that boy. But why wouldn't he? You were nothing special. You were nothing.

You made a fist and clenched your hands at your sides. Shit. . .this was too much stress. You were starting to get a headache. You looked at the coffee pot and saw it was ready. You prepared your morning drink and sat at the dining table, staring out the window to the backyard and sipping your coffee.

You looked down at your wrist and found yourself staring at your scars. A short one here, a long one there. A little venting here, a lot of venting there.

"I trust you're not going to do that anymore?"

The voice behind you made you jump. You turned your head to see Francis standing behind you, rubbing his right eye as he yawned.

You smiled at him. Forget it. Fake it. Bury it. "Good morning. Coffee?" You gestured to the half-full pot and Francis helped himself to a cup, nodding his thanks.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, sitting next to you. You smiled and nodded. He rubbed your back and spoke cheerily. "That's good."

'Fake it,' you reminded yourself. 'Fake it until you forget it.'

X

For the remainder of the morning, you and Francis had small talk over the coffee. Little, meaningless topics that you were bored of and had absolutely no interest in. However, to keep appearances up, you acted the part and clung to his every word. But it got to the point where you stopped listening. You just kept looking at him, smiling and nodding, just studying his features as you tried to distract yourself from the boring topics.

Francis had a small scar on the back of his jaw. . .did he know that? Of course he did. But. . .does he realize his left eye is a lighter blue than his right? The difference is only slight. Ugh, when did he shower last? His scalp is getting greasy.

"Is that alright, (Name)?"

You smiled and nodded, not caring what he said. You were too focused on his nose, trying to figure out if it was too big or if you were just seeing things.

"(Name)? (Name)!"

You blinked twenty times, lifting your head from your palm. "Huh? What? I'm listening."

Francis rolled his eyes. "I asked if you wanted to drive out to where Gilbert, Antonio, and (bestfriend) are camping. They're not leaving until tomorrow. We can stay a night, if you want."

Your eyes suddenly grew dark. You did not want to talk with people. . .you didn't want to go places. You just wanted to sit at home, alone. "I don't really-" Your voice came out shakier than you had wanted it to, and was cut off by the Frenchman.

"Ah, I know that look in your eyes." He nudged your shoulder slightly. You winced, as you were still sore from the other day. "Come on, (Name). It'll be fun, I promise."

You frowned at him, thinking.

"Look, just go on this trip with us, and I promise you'll never have to come along again." He paused. "Not unless you want to."

You stared at him and continued to think. Of course, every fiber of your worthless being was telling you you didn't deserve to go, and in turn you didn't want to. But. . .did you really have a choice? Yesterday when you tried to deny Francis entry into your home, he forced himself in. If he wants you to go, he's going to drag you into the car. He would've actually dragged you, too, because he didn't really care. Last night, it was just a lie. He's acting cool now, but he's just trying to set you up to knock you down. Francis would scoop you up in his arms and take you to the car, saying "Too bad!" if you had declined. Sure, you could've tried to get out of his arms, but his grip was strong, and the neighbors would have just written it off as a joke. Maybe you just had to go. Not enjoy it, but at least go.

Besides, you still have to keep up appearances for Gilbert and Antonio.

You didn't meet Francis' gaze as you sighed, trying to play it off like you were annoyed, and said, "Fine."

Francis smiled. "Great! Start packing immediately, we'll leave ASAP!"

You rolled your eyes once he left the room. 'Great,' you thought. 'This is gonna be fun.'

You did as Francis had asked you, but not - of course - to his specifications. You were just staying the crappy night at some crappy place in the crappy woods, so who gave a crap? All you brought was a pillow to lay your undeserving being on. Not true, actually. You had stuffed your old glasses case in the pillowcase. You argued with Francis on the subject of packing, but he eventually let it go and stopped bugging you about it. God you wished he would just piss off.

The drive there was anything but eventful. It was an entire hour and a half non-communication. Francis had tried to start small talk, which you either ignored or answered with a single word. He eventually tried to put the radio on, but each time he found a station, you changed it to something you didn't even like, just to get on his nerves. But the whole channel and volume war started to give you a headache, so you turned off the radio and forced Francis to live in silence as you listened to your iPod. You got lost in watching the world zoom by the passenger side window, but found yourself once again asking why. Just. . .why everything. Especially Francis. That question was still unanswered to you. Was he keeping this charade up just to tear you back down? You weren't going to let him. You wouldn't let him build you up. Not. . .not like. . .

You started to feel tears coming on.

Not like that boy.

X

Once you arrived, you were instantly greeted by three pairs of grinning faces. Their happiness seemed to be contagious, as Francis smiled and waved back. You, on the other hand, were immune. You pulled a fake smile before you pulled down your hood, zipping up the jacket after you did so.

Francis parked the car and got out, hugging everybody. [Bestfriend] immediately came up and hugged you. "Oh, (Name)! I'm so glad you're feeling better now!"

Your heart stopped and your eyes bulged. "Um. . .I'm sorry, what?"

Gilbert walked up behind you, slapping your ass like usual. "Francis texted us about what happened last night."

Antonio walked over and kissed your cheek. "Si, and we're so glad you're feeling better!"

'Fuck off. You don't care.' You faked another smile. "Thanks guys."

"Oui, but she was little miss grumpy pants on the way here!" Francis laughed as he poked your cheek, the same one Antonio kissed.

"Long car rides make me that way," you said quickly, relieved at your ability to think up lies so quickly. They all bought it too.

"Well, you're here now, (Name)!" [Bestfriend] said. "So what do you want to do first?"

You glanced from [Bestfriend] to Francis to Antonio then to Gilbert before looking down at your feet. 'Leave me alone.' It was not your intention, but as you looked down, your hood covered your face. "Eh. . .actually, long car rides also make me sick. . . I think I'm just going to rest here for a bit. You guys go on and do whatever."

"Me and Gilbert and [Bestfriend] were going to go fishing, actually. You sure you don't want to come?" Antonio asked, trying to peel off your hood. You gave him no response, and he turned to your transport. "Francis? You want to come?"

You couldn't see anybody's facial replies from under your sanctuary, but you did hear a bit of silence before [Bestfriend] spoke up.

"You go on ahead, Franny. I'll stay here with (Name)."

Francis walked passed you to put his hand on [Bestfriend]'s shoulder. "Merci."

There was more silence, which you believed had been filled with either nodding or smiling. Either way, it didn't matter. The boys gathered up their supplies as you were sat down on a fallen tree to "recuperate". All you could think of was the f-word. You had planned to take this free time to vent, because right now you were feeling pretty betrayed.

You knew Francis would tell everyone what had happened. That was your own business, and he went and blabbed! Wasn't that a sort of just-between-us secret? Jesus Christ! People can't be trusted, you already knew that. And, as already said, you knew Francis would tell. But. . .there was some part of you that really thought he wouldn't. You sighed. You would have to lock up that part of you now. People are stupid and should just fuck off and mind their own goddamn business.

Once the boys left, you popped your headphones in your ear. Like, as SOON as they left. You did NOT want to talk to [Bestfriend]. You knew what she'd want to talk about. And you feared you'd start to cry if you had to revisit another conversation like that.

~

"So, how was the ride over here?" Gilbert asked me as we made our way down to the fishing spot, reels and bait in hand. "Any traffic over the freeway?"

"Oh no, none at all. Surprising, really." I grunted as I almost tripped on slippery rock, regaining my balance at the last second. "You?"

The albino shook his head. "We had a little, but nothing major. Although it was twice as aggravating with [Bestfriend] singing along to the radio. Singing BADLY." I chuckled at that.

There was quiet after that, then more chit chat was made. Boring chit chat. I mean, I loved these guys like brothers, but come on. All I could think about was (Name) and her stomach ache. Was it my driving that made her nauseous? Or was it just the roads? The car? Would she be alright when we got back? I shook my head to clear away these thoughts as Gilbert spoke again.

It was strange, Antonio didn't say anything the whole way there. It was only once we had set up our fishing rods and had cast them that he said anything. And when he did, I was relieved. Relived to be finished with this small talk, that is.

"Alright, spill it."

Except when he first said it, I wasn't quite sure what he meant. I turned to my left and gave him a confused look. "I-I'm sorry?"

Antonio rolled his eyes. "I mean what happened with the chica! You barely texted us anything. 'Over at (Name)'s. We had a breakthrough. . .I think I saved her life.' THAT WAS IT. What the hell does that mean?"

"Ja, I was wondering the same thing." I looked to my right. "I just wasn't sure if I should ask."

"You mean you guys couldn't tell? [Bestfriend] and I talked about it, but I thought you guys. . .jeez," I scoffed, not saying anymore.

"And?" Gilbert asked, annoyed.

I put my forehead against my hands. "Jesus Christ. . . She was depressed, you guys! She was cutting herself and starving herself." They both gave me shocked looks, like they never would've guessed it.

"Is the chica going to kill herself?!" Antonio questioned, mouth agape.

"Non. Last night her and I had a talk, and I think she's doing better."

"T-that's good. . ." Gilbert whispered. "But why would she want to do that in the first place?"

"I don't know." I shook my head. "I honestly don't. I mean, she's got everything going for her. She's living in a single home now, she has family and friends that care for her, her grades are good, and she's so pretty. She's so nice and sweet, you never would've thought she was struggling. Or that she was being bullied. She. . .c'est une belle colombe est retenu captif dans une boîte battus. Elle a besoin d'être libéré de laisser son cœur prendre son envol.*" I said the last part half to myself, not caring how corny or stupid it sounded. I ontinued to stare at the lake, not noticing as Gilbert and Antonio gave each other a smirk.

"Tu l'aimes, n'est-ce pas?**" Antonio asked, completely butchering my language in the process. The hell he even found time to learn that, I had no clue. Was that a phrase I said a lot? I'm not sure. I don't really pay attention to those types of things.

"Francis? You're not answering," Gilbert snickered.

"So what?" I couldn't help the blood rushing to my cheeks. They both laughed as hard as they could.

"You do!" Gilbert shouted. Antonio kept laughing at my embarrassment.

"Oi! Just shut up you two! Now we have to spend an extra hour out here because you scared away all the fish," I grumbled.

~

A short while after the boys left, you felt an ear bud being pulled from your ear. You were about to fucking scream. "Yeah?" You asked [Bestfriend] in the sweetest voice you could muster at the moment.

She was looking at the ground rather than at you when she asked, and seemed almost embarrassed to ask. But she did anyway. "So. . .what happened last night?"

"Didn't Francis text you about it?" That came out sounding more mean that you planned. You didn't care at this point, though.

"Hey, there's no reason to be hostile. And. . .yes, he did text us, but he barely said anything. That doesn't matter though," she said quickly. "I want to know your side."

You sighed, trying to contain your anger, which was containing your tears. "He saw my scars, I told him why I did it, he told me to stop." [Bestfriend] asked you to elaborate, but you didn't say anything back to her.

"And you're going to stop?" She said after a while. You nodded. She frowned, you flashed her a smile. She smiled back.

Suddenly, you both heard Gilbert yelling, "You do!" It echoed through the trees and made [Bestfriend] laugh. You chuckled, forcing it, trying to seem normal.

"I betcha he scared away all the fish!" [Bestfriend] giggled.

"Yeah; he's so obnoxious." You smiled.

". . .can I tell you a secret?"

You groaned internally, as you were just about to put in your headphones again. You knew that if you spoke you'd yell, so you just looked at her, swallowing your anger.

She blushed, scooting closer to you and whispering in your ear, "I like him."

"Yeah, I like him too. We're all friends," You retorted.

She laughed, taking it as a joke. "No, I mean - I have a crush on him."

You gave her the most disgusted look you thought was appropriate for the situation. Honestly you couldn't give two fucking shits. You put your headphones back in your ear when she wasn't looking, so you didn't have to hear another stupid peppy word she had to say.

This was actually a very effective form of wasting time. Before you knew it, the sun had gone down. [Bestfriend] went to start a fire as you pretended to be asleep (you took out your headphones to save the iPod's battery). It was completely silent, and you thought you really would fall asleep. But then the trio came crashing through the trees, shouting and laughing. So much for that idea. You kept your eyes closed, though.

"She asleep?" Antonio asked [Bestfriend]. She nodded, you guessed, but this fact didn't stop the trio from making all their noise. Of course it wouldn't.

"Catch anything?" [Bestfriend] asked.

"What do you think?" Francis laughed. She laughed too.

"You're right. You guys probably scared away all the fish in the forest!"

Antonio took it upon himself to put away all three of their fishing. "Were we that loud?"

"Yes!"

"Ey. . .did you bring the stuff?" Francis asked once the trio had sat down on the log on the other side of the fire.

"'Course." [Bestfriend] started to unzip her pack. "Wouldn't be camping without it!"

She took something out of her bag and received little cheers of approval from the three. You had no clue what they were talking about, and a strange scent suddenly met your nostrils. You refused to open your eyes and investigate. There was silence for the next few minutes, with only the sound of the fire cracking and paper crinkling. Thin paper.

"Need a light," Gilbert said with his mouth. . .full? You couldn't quite tell. The next thing you heard was a lighter being lit, then the sound of a sharp inhale. Ten or so seconds later, he exhaled slowly.

That smell met your nose again, and this time is was way stronger. It was really disgusting, and you opened your eyes. Slowly, of course. You had just been awoken, after all.

"Aw, look who's awake!" Antonio cooed.

"What are you guys doing?" You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. "Smells bad."

"Just a little somthin' somthin'," Gilbert smirked, handing the thing in his mouth to you. "You ever tried it?"

"Tried what?" You asked, taking the thing from him.

"Marijuana," [Bestfriend] whispered into your ear.

In the same second you felt the urge to gasp, you felt you didn't need to. You'd heard of it before, and the euphoric feel it gave people. It surprised you that they had it out here on them, but it didn't surprise you because they were. . .well, camping.

You shook your head, admitting you had not had the illegal substance before.

Francis turned to the albino. "Gil, don't pressure her to do anything."

Okay, this got you mad. Who the fuck was Francis to tell Gilbert that? Did he not think you could handle it? Before any of them could respond, you put the end of the blunt into your mouth and did as you heard Gilbert. It was a little difficult, but you managed. Once you exhaled, the three cheered. Francis, for some reason, didn't. He smiled though.

"Okay, okay. Who's next?" You asked, already feeling it kicking in.

Antonio raised his hand up. "Me!"

X

The entirety of that evening consisted of the smoking of the illegal marijuana, and though you knew it was wrong, the substance was making you have a damn good time. Your anger had been melted away. Like, literally, it felt like. You sorrows were all forgotten. It. . .it was such a good feeling. You had let it go, without any consequences. This was what you were waiting for. . .

This was the start of something beautiful.

No wait, scratch that last part.


	6. Chapter 6

How long has it been since that fateful night? One week? Two? Eh, you'd guess it was a week. Hell if you could keep track of time that well.

You had absolutely hated that camping trip and everything about everyone there, but by the time it was over, you had had a wonderful experience. However, switching from the tortured past you lived and the week of bliss now may require a bit of "in between context". So, let us enable a flashback, and recall the events.

X

That night, you didn't dream. You and the rest of them had all gotten high, and after your second hit, everything was a blur. You remembered noise, you remembered trees, and you remembered smiling faces. Antonio smiled a lot, Gilbert smiled a lot, [bestfriend] smiled a lot, but you weren't sure what you did. What? It's not like you had a mirror. Francis' name was not mentioned on the list previous because, like yourself, you weren't sure what he was feeling. Or doing for that matter. Once he was high, he sat back against a tree and kind of just laid there. You weren't really interested in what he did after that. Not when [bestfriend] was busy as she quite literally threw herself onto Gilbert's lap, wrapping her arms around his back and kissing him. The womanizer didn't see shit wrong with it and kissed back. You and Antonio just ate the rest of the night.

From that point to you settling down in a tent to sleep, you could not remember. But the moment you blinked open your sore eyes, immediately blinded from the sunlight through the unzipped tent opening, you could recall the painful bullet shooting through your mind.

Not only was your life and everything about it a complete fuck-up, but now you had actually entangled yourself in something illegal. You also felt terrible now that you'd come down from your high; it felt like you'd betrayed yourself. Like you'd broken through your own second wall, which you had been building up from yesterday morning. You had no clue why you were acting so chummy and happy all of a sudden, and while your brain released a euphoric feeling, you felt like shit when you recollected on what you did. You didn't deserve any of this shit. Why were you happy? You shouldn't be. Why were you talking to people? You shouldn't be. Why were you even there? You shouldn't be.

People spread things. For all you know, the god damn sheriff with the god damn stick up his ass could get word of this and legally arrest you. But honestly, this was the least of your worries. You'd heard stories; no one really got arrested for this kind of crap, but with your local sheriff department, the second of the governing forces overlapping in your area, it was better not to test the waters.

Perhaps, you were safe? Perhaps, it was alright that you did that. You only took the hit because Francis didn't want you to. You were defiant, not happy.

Bullshit. You were fucking happy like a little whore with a great-ass life. This was the shit you don't deserve. You should have just laid there and "been asleep" until it was all over.

You rolled over and gripped your pillow harder than you already were, pulling your legs closer to your chest in the fetal position. You had fallen asleep that night without a blanket and were now freezing cold. Eyes closed, you could feel a lump of warmth next to you. You snuggle close to it, thinking it to be a lump of blankets, as you tried to clear the internal battle from your mind.

You were a stupid, insecure little bitch that caused all your family's problems. It was your fault that any of this pain exists. It was all your fault. Always.

That is final.

Your other hand swings itself over, slamming against the blankets. Only, it wasn't soft fabric. It was warm flesh.

The warm flesh groaned at being hit, and your eyes opened wide. Antonio was laying next to you, his shirt riding up and exposing his stomach. You sat up quickly, mentally noting that you were both clothed (your hood had fallen but your beanie was still on-you were very relieved), and saw a plethora of food strewn across the tent and even outside, a trail leading right to you two. Bags of chips and pretzels alike were scattered everywhere, some empty, some not, all opened.

Remembering now what had happened hours earlier, you suddenly grew wary to check elsewhere outside your large tent, let alone the other, smaller one that was set up.

You had left your phone at home, having really no use for it, and grabbed for your iPod to check the time.

You didn't really check. You didn't really care.

But, you cared about your shoes, which somehow had come off your feet and were outside by the extinguished fire. Antonio was sprawled out and taking up half the place, so you were cautious in not stepping on his legs as you maneuvered out of there.

You cringed involuntarily. The smell sting hung in the air, bringing back the memories as soon as you sniffed it. However, it didn't bother you.

The trash level outside was not as bad as it was in, but again, you didn't really care either way. You sat upon a log that bordered to the fire pit, grabbing your converse and stuffing them on your feet. Across from you, Francis stirred. He had fallen asleep in the last place you saw him, and you felt something good in your chest at the thought that he'd fallen asleep uncomfortably, and told yourself that it was exactly what the bastard deserved.

You didn't make eye contact, or even respond to him waking. You just put your shoes on and acted like he wasn't even there.

~

The first thing I felt waking up was a stiff back. Stiff as hell. Jesus, I couldn't even open my eyes until I moved. This was the exact reason I didn't partake too often-I always settled down into an awkward spot to watch the action. I didn't move, and I often slept that way. Being high made me want to just sit and let my brain draw its own picture. I always woke up fucked in some way or another.

I sighed and rolled onto my side, falling onto the cold forest ground. I slowly pushed up, opening my eyes and wiping off my shoulder. Of course, the first thing I see is (Name). She's not looking at me, even after I just fell. Okay it's not like I'm looking for concern, it's not like it hurt, but that kind of noise would have made someone look, right? Well, whatever. Maybe she's still tired?

She looked tired every day of school, though.

Nonetheless, I speak up. "Morning."

She didn't respond.

I slap my knees. "So, last night, hm?" I raised an eyebrow.

(Name) was silent. A bad feeling started growing in my gut. Had I done something to make her mad at me?

I stood, walking around the fire pit and sitting next to her. She doesn't even turn her head. Seeing how far I could push, I put my arm around her shoulder. "You still tired?"

Finally, she nodded. A response.

"Are you mad at me, (Name)?"

She shook her head. That, and she leaned into me. I smiled. At first, I had been worried about last night. I didn't know what would become of the smoking, and I felt fear for her. It was her first time. But she seems to be alright, and I'm glad. It probably just took a lot out of her.

~

It burns. His hug, it burns. You don't want to do it but you have to. Otherwise, he just won't stop. The same crap he pulled the other day, he'll just try that shit all over again, and with the other three here! You were repulsed. How could Francis tell them? Why was he doing this to you? Sometimes you just wanted to run away from everyone and everything.

You two sat in silence for some time, just you in the other's embrace as he breathed softly. You refused to feel warmth. You refused to feel happy in his arms. You spent your time pushing it all away, because you knew that if you didn't, he'd only end up shoving you aside.

This torturing silence was finally broken when more people stirred. First it was [Bestfriend] and Gilbert, emerging from the small tent. Gilbert yawned as he stretched, and [Bestfriend] greeted you and Francis. She raised an eyebrow at you, sitting so closely to the Frenchman, but you didn't say anything. She kicked Toni's feet as she walked by, settling herself across from you and Francis.

[Bestfriend] was not one to beat around the bush when it came to interrogation, and as soon as she sat, more words flowed from the broken pipe. "Alright, so what's going on here?" She gestured to the two of you sitting together.

You thought Francis was going to speak, so you tried to cut him off. You accidentally lashed out at [Bestfriend], not meaning to sound as rude, but you were on edge what with what Francis was doing to you. "I'm sorry, but what was going on with you and /him/ last night?" You threw your head in Gilbert's direction, who was searching your tent for adequate breakfast food.

She acted unaffected, but you could still see it in her eyes. "Well, what happens with M.J., stays with M.J."

You blinked.

She smiled.

The hell.

"Anyways," [Bestfriend] continued, "it seems you and Toni ate most of our food last night. What you didn't eat you left open." She laughed. "I'm surprised we weren't attacked by any bears last night!"

"Ja, it's a good thing we're leaving today," Gilbert added, emerging from the tent with a half gone family size bag of Doritos. With motives you had no idea of the origin to, he took a handful of the chips and threw them at Francis' face. He made an awkward distress noise and scrunched up his nose, throwing his head back at the impact. You thought he'd finally let go of you, but god damn.

Shit, you just wanted the hell out of here.

"No. . .I don't wanna go. . ." Antonio whimpered from the tent.

"You ate all the food!" Gilbert shouted at him.

"We eat fish. . ." He mumbled.

Gilbert, having a mouthful of chips, suddenly burst into laughter. You actually thought he'd choke, but he didn't. "SPEAKING of eating fish-!"

[Bestfriend] slapped him on the arm with great force, and he only laughed harder.

"Everything was like rainbows last night!"

You frowned. The hell was up with everyone?

Whatever.

A couple hours later, after all the boring morning talks and breakfast munchies, everything had somehow gotten successfully packed up. You were finally about to be free. . .just an hour and a half longer to go then you can get away from these peppy bitches and live your stupid life.

The trio of Antonio, Gilbert, and [Bestfriend] had all agreed to go back to Toni's place. Francis said he'd go too, but not until after he'd dropped you off at home. You told him you needed to catch up on your sleep, and surprisingly enough, he believed you.

You spent the ride back with Francis just as you had your way there; except for the channel changing or iPod listening. The radio remained off and your iPod was now dead.

You sighed internally, preparing yourself for your stupid return back to your stupid life with stupid bullies and a stupid future, because that was all you were: stupid. Stupid, and a burden. Good for nothing.

Francis dropped you off, and you kept up "happy" and thanked him. He got out of the car and hugged you. You half-heatedly hugged back; it was the best you could do.

The Frenchman seemed a bit cautious about leaving you home by yourself, but you insisted that you were fine. He really helped you, and really all you wanted to do right now was sleep it off. He accepted the painted curtain of reality and eventually drove away, waving to you as he left. Thank god; all you wanted to do now was make a new mark. You deserved it.

You are stupid, you know this. You caused your father's problems, you know this. You don't deserve life, you know this. You're a pussy for not killing yourself, you're not worth the skin on your body, the clothes on your back, you need to be bullied, you can't be happy, you are the cause of your father's pain and you are a disappointment to him. These things you know. These things make you cut, and cut you were about to do when you entered your bedroom.

So, you weren't sure how to react. . .when you opened your old glasses case (pulling it from your pillow case), and saw the bloodied device was gone. It was what had been left in their place that had really shocked you: a snack-baggie with that marijuana in it and a small note attached.

(Name),  
>Thought you might want to try this instead of that. Keep your spririts up, girl. Love you :)<br>-[Bestfriend]

She hadn't given you much, but it was about the same as what you four had partaken of last night.

In truth, you really weren't sure what to do with that. First, you felt insecure and scared. Someone had rifled through your personal belongings and had access to what you owned, changing it according to their own will. But then you were angry. Angry that [Bestfriend] had the audacity to remove your only source of venting, and now you had no way to express your emotions. After these reactions, a third one emerged. One that you remembered. One that would torture you.

You remembered how you felt. You. . .you vented. . .? You were ha-

No. You shouldn't be.

Fuck you. Fuck that little voice in your head. You want happy. You want not here. You want what this gives you. You want escape. And by God, you found a way to run away from all the "why".

X

You now live in bliss. You smoked what she gave you, and you found ways to get more. Monday you had gone to school, but smoked afterwords. Tuesday you smoked during lunch. Wednesday you smoked during lunch. Thursday you didn't show up until lunch, and Friday you didn't even go to school. Around Thursday you had run out of what [Bestfriend] had given you, so you scoured around on Friday and found a dealer.

Honestly, this whole. . .week? Has been a blur. You don't remember going to school after Thursday. You smoke a lot, and you escape a lot. You don't feel when you smoke. You don't feel the burning, excruciating, agonizing self-loathe of being you.

No, you're not an addict. You only smoke when you're sad or angry. It helps to. . .calm. It's nice. It's hazy. Life's hazy.

Sighing, and releasing a huge puff of smoke, you laid your head back on your couch. [Bestfriend] was right. This was. . . This was good. When you talked to her and the trio, it wasn't as hard to fake it anymore. They believed you were happy, and you felt happy. They didn't think anything was up with you, because nothing was. Being you had become so easy.

A knock.

You lift your head from the couch, and sit up.

Another knock.

Someone's at the door? You wonder why. . .

You stand and make your way to the front door, opening it and seeing your four friends standing there. You smile at them.

"Hey guys!"

For once, they weren't smiling back at you.


End file.
